“There are six in total.”

The butler carefully laid out the necklaces Henrik Meriner had retrieved.

When gathered together like that, a clear pattern emerged.

“They are all imported from Valter.”

The design was unmistakable—small gemstones set in high-quality Valter gold. Though the craftsmanship was refined, the pieces were not particularly popular among noblewomen. The reason was simple. Their appearance was somewhat crude, and the stones were too small to carry much value.

He had ordered that every jewel in the shop be sent over, so he had not even known these necklaces had been purchased.

After examining the receipt, Aiden’s suspicion hardened into certainty.

“Countless jewels were taken, yet only the six cheapest necklaces were found…”

The butler, evidently thinking the same, added quietly.

“It is too strange to be a coincidence.”

“It isn’t a coincidence.”

“Pardon? How could that—”

“Summon Pailin at once.”

“Yes, Master.”

A peculiar light flickered across Aiden’s face. Catching a glimpse of it, the butler hurried from the study without another word.

Her death.

Those two words alone shattered his world. In the ruins left by a fallen sky, there was no place for delicate reason to stand.

That was why he had failed to realize it. He had overlooked the faint signs that had stirred his suspicion.

Just as he had helplessly fallen for her, he had been caught in the elaborate snare she had so meticulously set.

Ah—his lovely woman was capable of such schemes as well.

Aiden released a breath that was neither quite a sigh nor a laugh and calmly retraced the conclusion he had already reached.

Every wolf in Shadow Gorge had been hunted down and killed. Yet not a single gem had been found in any of their bellies.

The missing jewels. The cleanly severed strands of hair.

The fragmented facts pointed to only one truth.

‘She is alive.’

The breath that had passed through him like a prayer gathered into a solid weight and rolled deep inside his chest. His broad chest rose sharply.

“Ha… ha…”

Aiden let out a laugh. He felt as though he might cry.

The emotions writhing inside his heart urged him to weep, yet laughter came first. He wanted to smash something. To shout at the top of his lungs.

And at the same time, a chill crept down his spine.

If he had not painstakingly combed through the tangled strands one by one, he would never have realized it. He would have remained deceived forever.

“To think I was fooled so perfectly.”

‘My woman has deceived me again.’

Even that fact made him glad now.

Even if Sveta were to deceive him once more and run away again—even if he had to endure this dreadful day a second time—he felt he could bear it.

Because she was alive.

That alone was all that mattered.

‘She is alive somewhere. She is alive…’

Aiden repeated the sentence over and over.

Like a fledgling breaking free from its shell, like a butterfly painfully shedding its cocoon, a fierce sense of liberation washed over him. The grief that had been crushing him vanished in an instant.

Before he knew it, the dim gray of dawn had been pushed aside, and a clear sky was rising.

Aiden walked to the wall of glass and filled his eyes with the color of the sky.

“I’m leaving you. Because I want to live.”

Sveta’s calm voice brushed against his ear.

“…Because I want to live.”

Only now did he think he understood what she had meant.

It was not because she hated him enough to die.

It was because she had felt that staying by his side might cost her life.

‘Elise Strilland. Charles Strilland. Marquis Matwood. Alyona Matwood…’

His parents. His fiancée and her father.

He had never fully grasped the fear Sveta must have felt before those names.

She must have had no choice but to leave.

“Then I’ll simply have to make it so she can return.”

He would settle everything decisively—leave not a trace of uncertainty—and then he would go find her.

When Aiden turned, brushing the gold hair that had fallen over his brow back from his face, a knock sounded at the door.

“Enter.”

“My lord…?”

Pailin’s wide eyes moved between Aiden—clad only in a robe—and the curtains drawn fully open. He looked as though he were witnessing something he could scarcely believe.

“There is something you must do, Pailin.”

Aiden’s voice, as he gave the order to his loyal knight, was steady and without the slightest tremor.

***

Fwoosh—the arrow sliced through the air.

It missed the target entirely and dropped into a patch of grass far beyond it. A miserable flight.

“This isn’t going well.”

Sveta lowered the bow.

It had been several days since she began learning archery from Yvetsa, yet she had not even managed to graze the target once.

“My stance is a mess, and my breathing…”

Nothing was going the way she wanted.

She had only loosed a few arrows, yet her fingers were already throbbing.

“It looked so easy when he did it.”

Murmuring under her breath, Sveta walked slowly to retrieve the arrows.

As she stared at the tattered shafts fletched with worn goose feathers, another image surfaced unbidden—long, elegant arrows adorned with eagle feathers.

A powerful composite bow curved with tension. A large hand gripping it firmly. Thick veins running along his arm like a winding river. Broad, angular shoulders.

To erase the afterimage that rose like habit, Sveta bit down on her lip.

“I’ll stop here for today.”

Had it been a mistake to say she wanted to learn archery?

She did not wish to think of him, yet the only image she had ever seen associated with a bow was Aiden.

It was not because of affection. Nor longing.

It was merely association. A fragment of memory. A moment engraved into a former life.

Nothing more.

Aiden was no more than that to her now.

And yet she despised herself for failing to cast aside even that shallow thought.

She wanted to forget the Duke of Strilland.

So whenever he came to mind, she told herself he must be living happily—and forced the thought away.

Erase it. And erase it again.

If she did so often enough, it would eventually fade.

‘That’s how I’ll forget him.’

The breath she exhaled formed a small cloud in the cold air before dissolving.

As though shaking the thought from her mind, Sveta gave her head a slight shake and walked along the low path dusted with snow until she reached the barn.

“Sister!”

Alphy was pushing a large wooden barrel inside, grunting with effort.

“What’s that barrel?”

The boy beamed.

“The butterflies we caught last autumn. I gave them to the viscount, and he paid a high price! He even lent me this barrel.”

“What kind of barrel is it?”

Hanging the bow on the wall, Sveta helped him push it into a corner of the barn.

“It’s for storing butterflies.”

“If you put too many in at once, won’t their wings get damaged?”

She met the boy’s eyes—clear green, like fresh leaves in early summer. It was difficult to look away from that vivid color.

Alphy puffed out his cheeks and grinned.

“It was made at the monastery using an ancient method. There’s a special mechanism, so it’s fine.”

“Really?”

The child chattered excitedly.

“Yes! When spring comes, I’ll catch lots and sell them. In summer, too. And autumn.”

Alphy held out his small hand. Sveta took it naturally.

“Alright. I’ll help you.”

“There are the most butterflies in autumn. It would be so much fun if we caught them together, sister.”

She led Alphy toward the house.

‘I should give him some chocolate and apple juice.’

Just imagining him enjoying it made her smile with quiet satisfaction.

As though holding back the urge to dash ahead, Alphy walked a few steps, then stopped, again and again. He was matching her slower pace.

He was adorable.

With warmth brimming in her voice, Sveta said,

“Yes. I hope autumn comes quickly.”

***

By the time Aiden returned to his study, now dressed immaculately, it was nearly noon.

The head maid, who had been waiting in the corridor, bowed deeply. She carried a large sack made of coarse cloth.

“My lord, there is something urgent I must report.”

As Aiden stepped inside and gave a slight nod, Meriette approached carefully, her hands folded.

“What is it?”

“Yesterday, one of the maids found this.”

What she placed on the desk was the perfume his mother had treasured.

He remembered receiving a report that it had gone missing at the time of her accident two years ago. Since Lady Norma’s perfumes were imported from the New Continent, they were carefully catalogued and managed. The scent itself was nothing extraordinary—simply rose—but the bottle that held it was rare.

It had been crafted by a glass artisan from the New Continent, making it more valuable than most jewels.

“It was found in the room of a maid named Beka.”

“…A bold little thief.”

If she had dared to sneak into Sveta’s bedchamber to steal jewels, that alone said enough.

Slowly rolling up his sleeves, Aiden took his seat at the desk.

He needed to go find Sveta at once. To find her and gather her into his arms. But before that, there was much to be done.

Forcing down the impatience threatening to surge within him, he asked evenly.

“What is in the sack?”

Watching him with uneasy eyes, the head maid carefully opened it.

“It is a knife Beka secretly discarded last night. A maid who was close to her discovered it.”

“….”

Aiden’s gaze slid along the smoothly curved blade.

Then he fixed his eyes on the lily engraved in relief upon the hilt.

“I had a suspicion.”

“The one who attacked the maid named Mary—it must have been this blade.”

“…Yes.”

Aiden opened the drawer behind his desk and withdrew a slender dagger, sharp as an awl.

It was the very blade that had stabbed Sveta two years ago.

“I thought something was strange.”

He placed it beside the other dagger.

The floral engravings on the hilts were identical.

“My goodness…!”

Meriette’s brows drew together sharply.

“My mother was from southern Prisada. Yet the hilt of this blade is crafted in the northern style.”

“….”

“Thorns and a lily. Do you know which house bears that crest?”

“I do not, my lord.”

“The House of Gould. It is no surprise you wouldn’t.”

The Count of Gould’s family had been annihilated for treason. Erased from history.

If Charles Strilland had not executed Count Gould—

If his father had not proudly taught him about the family’s crest—

He himself might not have recognized it.

In truth, when he first saw the blade that had stabbed her two years ago, he had not thought of the House of Gould. The boatman who attacked Sveta had no clear connection to them, and a simple lily motif was common enough.

But the engraving on the blade Meriette had brought was more intricate.

A sword of the kind used in Zloytan.

And upon it, a lily entwined to the left by a thorned vine.

There were only two people who would wield such a blade.

Jace Gould.

And his daughter, Beth Gould.

Aiden beckoned to Dennis, who had been standing at a distance.

“You mentioned there was an informant who knows about Beth Gould’s background.”

“Yes, Your Grace. He is staying in the east wing.”

“Send him to the underground prison. Have him confront the maid named Beka.”